The Affair
by A Grayer Shade of Gray
Summary: Admiral Natasi Daala rekindles a romance with an old flame.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

AN: This is slightly AU, but stick with it. I think it goes a little deeper into who they are. You might disagree. Like it? Hate it? Comment. Cheers!

Admiral Natasi Daala had taken many lovers over the years, and been taken on several occasions against her will, but none had been as memorable as one of her first consensual encounters. She found her mind drifting back to the uneasy detente that started the illicit affair between a young officer and the bounty hunter who was working at making his fearsome reputation.  
As she stood on the bridge of her flag ship, _the Gorgon_, Daala sighed, looking out into space remembering their initial meeting. What was supposed to start as two men debating her future, using her body as currency, had ended with the mental break up of her dependency on Tarkin and a new liaison that would, to this day, bring a smile to the solitary woman's face.  
It was as clear as if it were only yesterday...

***

She was fresh faced, just given her commission at 19; she was young for an officer and the only woman in her class. Add to that being a favourite of Tarkin and she was already being talked about.  
"I heard old Lady Tarkin has put a hit on her," she heard the gossip from the other females, resigned to their careers behind desks and computer terminals.  
They're just jealous, she would tell herself. She hadn't succumbed to Tarkin's pressure to be physical... Yet.  
"I bet she's just giving it to the old man," the male cadets would postulate. "I bet she's wild." "I bet she's a rock." "I think she's a lesbian." "She's kind of scary." "She's pretty hot."  
But, day to day, they left her alone, afraid of her temper and the influence she possessed over Tarkin, the CO of the vessel. They were docked in the Outer Rim, taking care of a spot of trouble on a little known planet with a small but rebellious population and a large and prosperous illicit mining set up for spice.  
Tarkin was having trouble making a dent in the solidarity and independence of the mine operators, who were criminals by definition in the Empire and as such, Tarkin was struggling with trying to strike a business deal with them.  
"Perhaps using an intermediary?" Daala would suggest at one of their late night cycle meetings.  
"I'm listening, my dear, explain," he would challenge, his dim blue eyes leering over her. Daala knew he respected her mind, but he desired his body.  
"The area is repleate with bounty hunters, men who work for money, perhaps hiring one of them to work as an intermediate between you and the mine operators," she started. "It would also have the added effect of adding more terror to the whole threat; you're sending a mercenary who is paid by results. It shows you mean business."  
"And six Star Destroyers don't?" he challenged her. The air behind her went cold and she could hear the breathing of Tarkin's second in control, Darth Vadar. She wasn't afraid of the half man/half machine. The worst he could possibly do was kill her slowly. Death was not to be feared.  
"Not to these people," she challenged. "If you hire someone they know, someone they already fear, you get the added level of dissociation as well. You can pocket more of the profits for yourself." She looked over her shoulder at Vadar who would no doubt report her to the Emperor, misogynistic bastards they pair of them.  
:"You would be wise to watch your tongue, woman," Vadar said, trying to be imposing. Most of the other officers were scared beyond reason by Vadar and his Force powers, and while Daala would admit they were fantastic, she was not afraid of death which meant she was not afraid of dying or a man who might kill her.  
"You mistake me for one of the ones who is afraid of you, Lord Vadar," she said, standing and saluting him as she was required to.  
"You say you are unafraid, and yet you salute."  
"Lack of fear does not translate into lack of respect," she said carefully. Fear did not always mean respect, in fact many times Daala noticed fear decreased respect. "  
Of course she couldn't see under his helmet, but Daala imagined that her words might have brought a wry smile to the older man's lips. He knew what happened behind closed doors, the pressure and persuasion tactics used by Tarkin to try an attain that which Daala continued to deny him. He didn't aid her, but neither did he condemn her. Perhaps he knew what it was like to be a pawn in someone else's chess game, trying to keep yourself from being turned over. .  
"Ensign Daala believes the key to our success on the surface is in hiring a third party to... negotiate the terms of their surrender," Tarkin said, gesturing that Vadar should join them at the table. With the Sith Lord seated, decorum stated Daala could once again sit down. "Your opinions, Lord Vadar?"  
She was holding her breath. She couldn't help it. Validation by Vadar, who was at once the right hand of Tarkin but also the direct conduit to the Emperor, would be the most important thing to happen in her since Tarkin noticed her at the academy.  
The silence, punctuated by Vadar's breathing, was torturous. He took his time considering her plan. Maker damn that mask of his, she thought to herself. Oh what she would have given to be able to read his features under the helmet.  
"It makes sense," Vadar said, standing. Daala rose with him. "I know the perfect mercenary for our purposes. I shall contact him and send him to you, Tarkin."  
"Good, Lord Vadar," Tarkin nodded by means of dismissing the second most powerful Force wielder in the galaxy, so far as anyone knew.  
Vadar left and Daala was permitted to sit down once more.  
"Natasi, come closer," he curled a finger. "We should further talk about your plan." Something in his voice told her he had no interest in talking about her plan, or talking at all. He was a lustful old man, and while the rumour mill had her seducing him for emotional reasons, for her career or any other reasons, she was truly repulsed by the man Tarkin was, it was the power he wielded that she wanted. He was using her, but she was determined to use him just as hard.  
She obeyed, coming to the head of the table. She leaned against the table and he smiled, reaching a hand up to touch her face. Internally she reminded herself what she was doing this for, forcing herself to forget about the cold, old, clamy hand caressing her cheek.  
"You've been able to grow your hair," he mused, his bony fingers combing through her coppery locks. It was naturally wavey and finally long enough to brush past her shoulders. At Cardia she had been held down and had her hair, at that time long enough that when braided it fell to the waist of her pants, forcibly shaved by the other cadets. "It suits you more."  
She nodded a silent reply, trying not to look too repulsed, not that she believed for a minute her own willingness to participate was important to him.  
"I have bought you something," he said, gesturing to a box resting on the mantel. Daala really did not want to know what was in the box; it could not be good. "I should like you to wear it the next time we meet." He stood up, drawing her to him, a hand around her waist and the other trapping her head at the back of her neck.  
Resisting was futile, she simply gave in, hoping her stomach didn't turn so much as to make her gag as he kissed her deeply. His lips were thin and cold, clumsy and without passion. His body felt fragile when Daala put her hands up against his shoulders. She could swear she felt the bones even through the thick military issue uniform.  
"Your kindness is too much, Moff Tarkin," she whispered, playing the part of demure student, tilting her chin down and looking up at him with big, innocent green eyes.  
"Shush, child," he kissed her forehead and Daala tried to block out the scent of his aftershave, even that smelt like old man. "Enjoy the gifts."  
She retrieved the gift and exited the room quietly. She sprinted back to her quarters, hoping to run into as few people she knew as possible; she didn't want any extra humiliation due to the decrepit old man.  
Running blindly through the hallways at this hour was not difficult; there were very few conscripted officers on duty, and most were working nights for a) extra pay or b) punishment, either way they were not the group who would be judging Daala the harshest.  
She made it back to her quarters, chest heaving and burning from the sprint, but unnoticed by her former class mates. As she locked the durasteel door behind her she heaved a sigh.

***

She was one of few of her rank to have her own private chambers, but they were not elaborate multi room facilities like the higher ranked officers. She had a sleeping pallet and a small three piece washroom with a small shower, sink and toilet. The room was just large enough for the pallet, the water closet and a closet with her uniforms, training clothing and a single dress uniform. Now, she could add the contents of the box to her wardrobe.

She was almost afraid of opening the box. It could be something entirely humiliating; something far too sexualized for the officer who had all but grown back her virginity. After a very humiliating and degrading experience in the Academy Daala had sworn off relationships. She didn't count Tarkin; the "relationship" with him was even less consensual than the one at the Academy had been.

She sat on her pallet and opened the box.

She had been right to be afraid it might be something sexual, something entirely inappropriate for an officer in the Imperial Navy to wear at pretty much any point.

A green satin dress, something that would have been considered far too simple for the Lady Tarkin, a noble born bitch who was bonier and colder than her husband if that were possible. It came just above the knee, and was thin almost to the point of being sheer. It took a minute, but it clicked.

It's not a dress, you silly fool, she mentally chided herself. It was a piece of lingerie. She sighed and pushed it, still in the box, into the closet.

"Child," she muttered to herself, laying back on the sleeping pallet.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She could remember being called into the meeting.  
"Why hello, my dear," Tarkin said, gesturing for her to sit down. She had the satin undergarment on underneath her uniform; it was uncomfortable but she didn't want to deal with the issues that would come with him finding out that she had disobeyed his request. "I have a special mission for you tonight."  
Daala nodded, taking a seat when directed. Vadar was standing, imposing as ever, behind Tarkin's right shoulder.  
"Lord Vadar has contacted a bounty hunter to help with our situation on planet," he paused, sorting through some files on his data pad. "I would like for you to make an offer..."

***

Nine simple, little words... Daala thought to herself, reminiscent on the bridge of _the Gorgon_. They would change her life forever. They would lead to her first betrayal of Tarkin and to an on again off again sexual relationship that would colour many of her actions and choices as a commander in the Navy.  
"Admiral," the voice of her Captain, a young man by the name of Josef Braggs, interrupted her thoughts. "Our sensors have picked up movement, but we cannot get confirmation on a ship."

Braggs was not an unattractive man, but Daala felt him too fair and fragile. He had pale skin as if he had spent too much time in the false light of a star ship, and light coloured hair set in the specific, short military fashion. He had high cheek bones, a slender nose and a generous mouth. She could see how many women might fancy him, but she had already had her share of self indulgent, slender military types, and one of the joys of out ranking the men in her care was she did not have to put up with any unwanted attention from any of them, even those with fathers of high rank before the fall.

"Do not worry," she said, her mouth pulling in a smirk. "It is as we expected. He will not show himself to us until he feels confident this is not a trap. It might take sometime. Be patient with him; he's a little paranoid."  
Paranoid? Perhaps it wasn't the best way to describe him, but in his line of work one could never be to careful, she supposed. He hadn't survived so long in such a dangerous career for lack of preparation or care. He had always shown equal fastidiousness with any endeavour she had seen him pursue, so perhaps it was one of his ingrained traits.  
"But Admiral, we have demanded..."  
She cut him off abruptly. "First, do not demand; request, and use my authority, please. Let him know that I request that he enter the hold. Demanding with his type will only create hostility," she paused. "Learning to manage those you out rank, Captain, is a skill required for advancement," she reminded in a cold tone. A double edged comment; he must learn first that she is managing him, while simultaneously learning to manage those beneath his rank.  
She uncrossed her arms and headed down to the hanger. Undoubtedly the call would come. He would change his mind. Rather than accepting her invitation, he would ask her to meet him. Her crew would argue. He would get his way.  
It seems in the case of their relationship, though she did her best not to think in those terms, he was always the victor.  
And yet, she never felt like the vanquished...

***

She had been nervous. She was given her directive by Tarkin, embarrassing as it was to have Vadar there as she was given her instructions. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, but her flushing only seemed to serve in further exciting Tarkin.  
If not for the future riding on that bag of bones, she thought bitterly to herself as she rode down to the docking bay alone. The turbo lift shot through the ship at great speed, delivering her to her destination in short order.  
As she exited, Daala could hear another ensign complaining.  
"Just who does he think he is?" the young man said to another officer. "He declined to meet with Tarkin and Vadar..."  
"Just shut your mouth," the other young man warned, lowering his voice as he looked over to Daala exiting the turbo lift. "You don't know what he's done... Here's trouble."  
They both smirked as they leered at the woman walking by. She was the only female officer on this ship, and one of only eighteen women total aboard. The other seventeen were dispersed throughout doing tasks such as cleaning duties, cooking and laundry, though even those jobs were dominated by men.  
She kept her head high as she walked past the men, ignoring them. She knew what the talk was behind her back; that she had opened her legs for Tarkin and in return he had opened doors for her. The irony was that his continued attentions were due more to the fact she continuously denied him.  
No denying now, she thought to herself. While the young man who had been trying to coax the bounty hunter out of his craft might not have been aware of the man's reputation, Daala was painfully aware.  
She took a deep, steadying breath and squared her shoulders. She stood rigid, at full attention, for what seemed like forever. In reality, it was likely only a matter of minutes as the bounty hunter aboard the craft scanned her to ensure she had no weapons or recording devices. This would not be the first time someone had tried to use a pretty face to get a leg up on the dominant bounty hunter.  
She relaxed her posture to parade stance, spreading her legs shoulder width apart and clasping her hands behind her back. What was taking so long? she thought impatiently to herself. Tarkin was wrong; this isn't going to work. He's going to see right through our gamble and kill me where I stand.  
The landing ramp hissed as the envirolock separated, allowing air from the bay to mingle with the sanitized recycled air from the smaller craft. Daala didn't want anyone to know, but she sighed with relief when the ramp touched down against the hard durasteel floor of the bay.  
For a moment nothing was said. The entire area around her stood still. You could have heard a bolt drop.  
After a few minutes Daala decided that he wasn't going to come out; it was up to her to go up the ramp.  
"Brave woman," one of the men had said as she started walking up the ramp. That was the closest thing to a compliment any of her equals. For the most part they feel she was beneath her.  
As she walked up the gangplank she could feel her heart racing in her chest, her hands were shaking. You can do this, Nat, she thought. You can do this. Do this and one day you'll be Captain of your own Star Destroyer. You can do this...

***

"You seem nervous," her Captain noticed quietly. She was at parade stance, but she kept clenching and unclenching her jaw.  
"It has been a long time," was all she said.  
"I am sure he will..." the Captain was unsure where to go with this conversation. He wanted to finish and have the Admiral confide in him, but that would be like asking a star not to burn.

He noticed the flush in her cheeks, the fact she had taken extra time with her uniform and hair today; little things those less enamoured with the firey redhead might not have noticed. She was beautiful, and graceful, and totally ignorant of the way he felt for her. He, however, had noticed the way she had blushed, the instant improvement in her mood, when the bounty hunter had made contact with her.

She had sent out a request for an artifact and attached a large enough sum that it would attract the highest calibre. When he had been the one to contact her saying he had found and procured it... She was like a school girl again.  
In the days leading up to his arrival, she had been smiling more, been more lenient on drilling and preparation. The Captain had even caught her singing to herself!  
"I appreciate your concern, Captain," Daala said, quietly and without the menace he was expecting. "But what he feels is beyond my control."  
Wow... The Captain was severely impressed by the affect that this bounty hunter had on the Admiral.  
She wasn't as nervous as she had been the first time she saw the battle scared hull of the sleek craft. This time it was more excited. It had been years since their last meeting, but she could remember his voice, his scent, even the road map of scars... She drew in a deep breath as the craft breached the air lock.  
She smiled. It was looking as though time had mellowed both of their tempers and stubbornness, but hopefully not their passion.  
"Admiral, the bounty hunter is requesting that you board his craft... alone..." her communications officer said with a worried tone.  
The Captain looked at her; stoic and cold eyes revealed nothing. He wished to stop her, to tell her that it was unwise to cut herself off from the protection of her fleet and storm troopers like that, but it was useless. It would only serve to out his compassion and feelings for the woman and open his heart to further anguish. The Admiral would do as she pleased.  
"Understood," was her reply. Her voice just a little too eager, her eyes a little too impatient.  
The craft settled into the bay and it was deja vu for the red haired Admiral; suddenly she was a young office once more, waiting for him in the belly of a star ship long destroyed. The years were quickly washing away as the ship settled and hissed, landing gear groaning under the weight.  
She swallowed nervously, a force of habit really.  
She was aching to hear that confirming "hiss" of the enviroseal giving way, and to see the boarding ramp drop down, inviting her in like an old friend, but there was a hesitation Daala was feeling. What if too much time had past? He had grown famous; perhaps he had outgrown the tastes he had almost ten years ago. Perhaps this was all a business transaction to him.  
She was being foolish; this was a business transaction. That is all.  
It had always been about business...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The young Daala stood waiting, wearing the uncomfortable negligee under her dress uniform, shifting and waiting. She wondered if he was making her wait on purpose, if he knew her discomfort.  
The entrance to the ship was a dark, cavernous mouth, hungry and eager to devour her. She swallowed hard and started up the ramp. When she reached the top her heart rate spiked a second time as she heard a hissing and turned around only to see the ramp close, trapping her inside.  
"You're nervous," his voice was gravely even through the audio speaker on his helmet. "Your heart rate is through the roof. Why would Tarkin send such a … novice?"  
As if you didn't know, she thought to herself. "I..." she paused, taking a calming breath. "My name is Natasi Daala; Tarkin has sent me to make you an offer regarding your services on the surface."  
"I know," his voice was cold and mechanical. "Why are you worried? Does my reputation scare you?"  
"I am not afraid of dying," she replied.  
"That was not my question."  
Another deep, steadying breath. "No," she finally admitted. "Tarkin's foolishness and assumption that you are as easily paid off as he and the fact that this gamble is being played with my life, frightens me. You do not.."  
"Pity," his voice called. Was he toying with her?  
She crossed her arms over her chest and put her hip out to the side. "If you're so fearsome, why is it you're hiding in the shadows?"  
"You assume just because I do not wish to expose myself I am hiding?"  
"It seems … logical," she replied, her eyebrow quirking up and her head tilting to the side.  
"I could be aiming my sights on you to kill you," he calmly replied.  
"Very true," she was unshaken. She wasn't afraid any more, her nervous energy had dissipated, turning quickly into annoyance. His reputation had him pegged as a no nonsense, down to business, cut and dry gun for hire, turned out he was more into playing games than actually working.  
"You'll forgive me if I am cautious, but it wouldn't be the first time someone has tried to use a pretty face to lure me into a compromising position," his voice remained calm and mechanical. He was clearly wearing his helmet and speaking through a voice modifier.  
Daala further distinguished herself from other females, seeing his comment not as a compliment, but rather an opening. She wasn't vain, and she knew, in all reality regardless of what Tarkin thought, her looks were unimportant to the situation. He would accept the offer or not; of course, Tarkin had encouraged her to sweeten the deal as she saw fit, bastard, but she wouldn't lower herself to that level.  
"I am not here for seduction," she said bluntly, rolling her eyes. "But if you wish to continue to waste my time..."  
"Your time?" Finally she heard the thud of his thick soled boots as he began to move.  
Finally, she thought almost bitterly. And I thought I was going to be here all day.  
"How about my time? Should I not be able to figure out whether you're worth my time before we go any further?"  
"_I_ personally have nothing to do with this," she said, emphasising "I" greatly. "Tarkin and Vadar claimed you refused to meet with them and suggested I might have better luck thanks to my..." She stumbled looking for the right word  
"Gender?"  
"Communication skills," she corrected him.  
He stepped out of the shadows to her left and Daala did her best not to jump and turn to face him. He was over six feet tall with his armour on, his helmet and boots probably adding two inches, at least. He was a medium build, thicker than Tarkin but not as developed yet; even through the armour and helmet Daala could see the tell tale signs of youth. She estimated his age as five years older than her. Other than that, the rest of him was a mystery covered by battle scared armour and a full face T visor style helmet popular among Mandalorian warriors.  
"I thought the Mandalore were extinct," Daala said, taking an appraisal of the man in front of her.  
"And I thought the Imperial Navy disproved of women in positions of promotion," he shot back at her. "I wonder how you managed to convince Tarkin, of all men, to give you a commission..." His voice trailed off.  
How dare he! she thought, her lips tightening and her body stiffening immediately. "Open the hatch," she demanded. "We're done here. I'm leaving."  
"Sorry, I can't do that," the bounty hunter who would one day be known as one of the most fearsome of his kind said, with just the hint of a smile in his voice. "And you aren't going anywhere until I let you."  
Daala rolled her eyes. "If you plan on using me as leverage with Tarkin, you're more delusional than the old man himself," she shook her head, a lock of copper hair falling into her eyes.  
"You assume I mean you harm?"  
"You haven't given me any reason not to."  
"Should I?" he offered, and for a moment Daala thought she could hear something almost sympathetic in his voice.  
She held her ground and silence, her arms crossed and her eyes unwilling to look at him, though she stood directly in front of him.  
"You're stubborn."  
"I would be here if I wasn't," she said, second guessing the pride in her voice when she said that.  
"And just where, exactly, are you?" he teased her. "On a strange mercenary ship, locked inside with a known bounty hunter with no qualms about killing."  
Damn him for being right! she thought to herself. Quick, Natasi, think on your feet. "As far as I know, there are no bounties on my head; as a good businessman, why ever would you do something for free when you could get paid for it?"  
"Fun."  
Check mate.  
"What's your name?" His question was unexpected to say the least.  
"Ensign Natasi Daala," she said, feeling a little weird.  
"You already know my name, yes?" he said stepping forward, moving closer to her until they were almost within arm's reach of each other.  
"Yes," she replied, shifting her left foot back slightly, until her boot hit the wall. She had nowhere to go.  
"Say it..." he whispered, the voice modulator dropping its volume accordingly.  
Daala felt her heart race, but this time not with fear but with excitement. His dominance was stronger than Tarkin's, and yet she was not disgusted. He had trapped her, but she welcomed it. He had challenged her, and she get the feeling he would accept a challenge back. Growing in her daring she replied: "Take your helmet off."  
It was a brave request. The bounty hunter hadn't been seen in public without his mask in over a decade, but then again, this wasn't public.  
He pressed forward further, forcing her to retreat until her back was against the metal wall, but never did her chin dip, her eyes drop or her shoulders break from their rigid square.  
"Say my name."  
"Take off your helmet."  
"I'll take off my helmet if you say my name."  
"I'll say your name if you take off the helmet," she continued. Her heart was racing, her head swimming. She hadn't had an exchange like this, something that excited her so much, in years. Not since she left for the Academy, and even then, she had been so young.  
There was an awkward silence as he debated her proposition.  
"I'm patient, bounty hunter; I can wait all night."  
"I could kill you where you stand."  
"If you wanted me dead, you'd have already done it," she quipped. Touche, good one, she thought to herself, a playful smirk crossing her mouth.  
His vision was blurred by the T visor, and to get a look at her body rather than just her face, he would have to move his entire head, letting Daala know full well what he was doing. The subtle dip of the edge of his helmet was all she needed.  
"You'd have a better view if you took the helmet off," she offered, this time innocent, less challenging. "And you'd be able to hear me better, because I won't say it loud."  
He finally relented, much to the surprise of the young naval officer. The bounty hunter stepped back half a step and brought his hands up to the sides of his helmet, releasing the clips that held it in place.  
She was unprepared for what she saw when he took off the helmet.  
Daala had made a good guess about his age; his face looked to be about 23 to 28 years old, under a map of scars. The most intriguing of which curled from just under his left cheek bone almost to his mouth. Another split his eyebrow. His skin was darker than what she had first thought; it was a deep tanned colour, like a hard working farmer. A mop of near black hair was tousled on his head, wild and just a little curly; the kind of hair one could run their fingers through and hold on to. The shadow of stubble was growing on the broad planes of his face. He was the spitting image of the clones she had seen on posters and holovids as a child.  
In short: he was one of the most stunning men she had ever seen.  
"Now," he said, putting his helmet carefully in a cubby, once again trapping her against the wall. His left hand held the edge of the shelf, his right resting above her head. "I believe you owe me your half of the bargain," he said, moving close enough she could smell the sweat clinging to his caramel coloured skin. "My name..."  
She closed her eyes, inhaling his scent and revelling in the heat coming off him. Never had she experienced such … tension. What was this? Lust? Desire? Lost in her thoughts, she was unaware of the seconds ticking by.  
His elbow dropped down, a gauntlet cad hand tipping her chin up to him. "My name..." His breath smelt of coffee and was warm against her cheek.  
The words formed in her mouth, sweet, salty and sexy, the way she imagined he would taste. "Boba Fett," she whispered to him like a lover, opening her eyes to see a wicked grin on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A smile pulled at the Admiral's mouth as Boba Fett's ship, _Slave IV_, settled in the docking bay of _the Gorgon_. She had tried to fight the excitement she felt, but now knowing he was so close... She would be lying if she said she hadn`t been incredibly excited when he was the one who responded first. She had hoped he would, but was unsure.  
After all, it had always been business between them... Or at least that`s what they had told each other, and themselves.  
There was the familiar but long forgotten hiss of the seal breaking and the creaking groan as the hydraulics lowered the ramp. It was a different ship than the first time, but it was the same model, just newer.  
She waited patiently, her hands clasped behind her back, just as she had waited ten years ago. It felt like a life time ago, and with each passing second time seemed to fly by. She did not want to seem too eager, though her hormones were screaming at her to run up the ramp. She wanted to run and fall into his arms and forget everything around her, but that was foolish. Childish. Stupid.  
No. She would not come running to him. She would not lower herself to that level.  
After all, it was only business... Or so she kept reminding herself.  
The seconds stretched into minutes with no one moving, no one making a sound. Fett did not come out of his ship. Daala did not approach any further.  
"Admiral?" her Captain asked, unsure of what was going on.  
"Be patient," she said quietly.  
"Will he come out?"  
"Oh, no," she said with a smile. "I will have to go up."  
"Alone?"  
"Well," she said very calmly. "I wouldn't really expect him to welcome more company than he has planned for. I do not want him to feel pressured."  
"But... He's a dangerous criminal!"  
"He is an independent contractor," Daala corrected her Captain. "And I should like him to be treated as such. Please try to remember this."  
"Yes, Admiral," the man said, sounding a little defeated.  
She waited another moment before she began heading up the ramp. She was nervous, and doing her best to calm her excited energy; she did not want him to know. Somehow, though, she knew he would see through her; he had before.  
Her boots clicked on the durasteel ramp as she accented into the hull of the ship. She was not afraid, only excited. She was not apprehensive, only nervous.  
She stopped when she got to the top of the ramp and waited, just off the hinge, for the hiss of the hydraulics to recall the ramp and lock her away with the most infamous bounty hunter in the galaxy. She felt a shiver of anticipation when the enviroseal confirmed they were locked away, alone but together.  
"An Admiral now? You've come a long way from that shy little ensign I remember," his voice was teasing as his boots scraped along the durasteel floor panels.  
She peered into the dark, knowing he was lurking somewhere, probably enjoying the luxury of toying with her. "And your reputation has surely grown as well," she said, a rare and private smile playing on her pale lips. "I guess congratulations are in order all around. Do you not agree, bounty hunter?"  
He stepped into full view, in front of her this time. The armour was the same, just older and more marred by blaster bolt scars and burns. He had filled out, his once youthful and lithe form had filled out in the ten years since she had seen him. His helmet tilted upwards as he carried himself with pride and dignity of a man who knows he is feared.  
What would he see now as compared to then? Daala's face had aged some, as would be expected; her cheekbones had become more pronounced without looking skeletal. Her shoulders were still squared and back straight at attention, but she held herself with more confidence, pushing her chest out just slightly. She too tipped her chin up in a sign of confidence, before lowering it with a smirk. She had grown comfortable in her skin during their time apart. Her firey red hair had continued to grow, now falling to just below her waist. It was bound in a thick braid, but loose strands fell across her face.  
Her uniform colour had changed, from gray to olive, and her rank bars had grown, sitting awkwardly above her left breast. Her body, however, had stayed roughly the same. She had matured, but always with an eye for staying fit. There were far too many flabby admirals in the navy already, she did not need to join them.  
She wondered how his face had changed in the years; what new scars had been added and how the hard years had worn on him. She didn't doubt for a minute that building his reputation had put more stress on his once handsome, if not scared, face than she had experienced.  
"I guess so..." he said, stepping forward. He has was armed to the teeth, but nothing was aimed at her, yet. "You are a brave woman, Admiral."  
She simply raised her eyebrow, holding her ground as he advanced towards her. "I am aware, but how do you figure?"  
"There are many bounties on that pretty little head of yours," the mechanically altered voice spoke through his helmet.  
"You wouldn't survive the escape," she smiled, her full mouth pulling at the corners. What a stupid, stupid man. Perhaps the years of being told he was the best, and having cantina girls throw themselves at him had gone to his head. "Standing order is to shoot this ship if you try to leave with me on it."  
"You think my shields won't be able to stand up to your cannons?" he said once more, stepping closer yet again to her. She slid her foot back, hitting the metal of the ramp. The scene was all too familiar.  
"Bounty hunter," her tone became just the slightest bit condescending, edged with playful. "I run a research facility; we designed the Death Star, and the world shattering weapon on that orbital death machine; you think I haven't fixed at least one of my command ships with something similar?"  
He paused, holding his ground as she challenged him, but saying nothing.  
"Besides kill me, and you won't get paid," her smirk grew into a grin.

Everyone had their price. It was the one piece of useful information Tarkin gave her. She knew the old man's price, may the Maker torture his withered soul; she knew her own price, and she was about to learn what a early 30s bounty hunter would cost.

He chuckled, the sound augmented by the voice synthesizer making it sound distinctly mechanical. "Do you really think that I need the money?" he asked, putting a hand up above her shoulder, another pressed against the ramp at her hip.

She blinked, refusing to back down from her proud stance, shoulder's squared, chin tilted up defiantly. "Then why take the job?"

There was little he could say to her in reply, and his silence spoke volumes. It was confirmation that she wasn't the only one who remembered that liaison years ago. As she had hoped, he had taken the job because she had been the one who posted it, not because of the monetary award, though surely he still expected to be paid.

There was an awkward silence between the two of them as they stood there, realizing his cards were now fully on the table and while he still had the physical upper hand, she was the one who possessed more power, for now at least.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Good girl," he whispered to her, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to hers, claiming her mouth. His hand slipped down from the inner skeletal structure of the ship, cupping her face with his gauntlet clad hand.  
Unexpectedly, she gave in, but only for a moment. He was warm, and tasted like salty sweat, youth and whiskey. She enjoyed the scent of his breath, the taste of his lips and the feel of his tongue against hers, but he would not get her like this.  
He had hoped he would trap her, his chest baring down on her own, but she was able to work her hands between them, and push back against his ribs, through his armour, breaking the kiss. An slighteded cantina girl would slap him, but Daala wasn't an slighted cantina girl, she was a deeply offended and severely conflicted Imperial officer.  
Her fist cracked across the stunned bounty hunter's jaw. He had rarely been turned down; even when he was younger. He was a handsome teenager, and growing into a handsome man with a fearsome reputation. No one had ever said no to him, and certainly no one had ever hit him for an advance.

Fett stumbled back a half step, taken by surprise and the force of the hit. She certainly hadn't skipped out on the hand to hand combat portions of her training, that was sure. He expected her to run at this point, readying himself for that, again he was disappointed. Natasi Daala merely straightened the front of her grey dress uniform, tilting her chin up and setting her jaw. She wasn't even readying herself for a fight.

Stalemate.

"I could kill you where you stand," he threatened. She had played with him, led him on, and he was so furious he couldn't see straight. How dare she?

"Ask," was her only reply. She was clearly upset, even the bounty hunter could see that. "I live in an environment where men think they have the right to my life, my body; I will not extend to you that same self indulged right." She narrowed her eyes.

It clicked. Tarkin had taken her under his wing, and into his bed, but it hadn't been a seduction, but more of a coercion. He had never cared whether Daala was interested in him, he wanted her and he took her.

Now that Fett understood, his tactic changed. Clearly she wasn't opposed to him, she had kissed him back, softened, all be it temporarily, to his touch. He approached her, slowly.

He paused, as close as he had been when they struck their original deal, and slid his gloves off, reaching around her to put them on top of his helmet. Next was his backpack rocket launcher, unclipping the chest strap and setting it to her left, on the floor by her legs. His belt with blaster holster was next, it looped around the rocket, just brushing her knee as gravity pulled it into place. He then stood there, unarmed, other than the flame thrower and grappling hooks on his forearms, in front of her.

Again, he reached out for her, his hand hesitating as he got closer; she was a woman, but she hit like a man, and without his helmet it was a lot harder to hide how much it hurt. She didn't swat his hand away, but as he touched her neck, he could feel the beat of her heart, it was racing as fast as his.

"May I?" he whispered, uncharacteristically polite, but characteristically driven to what he desired without compromise.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned forward, pressing into him and claiming his mouth with her own. She pressed into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling back, until they both crashed into the inner wall of the ship.

He could feel her hunger, the drive and desire to be wanted and to want something. He wondered how long she had been starved of passion like this, how long sex had been another order to be carried out dutifully but without desire.

A moan escaped him and she pulled him to her, her one hand gripping his hair, the second the neck of his tunic. He hadn't felt this kind of passion in a long time, since the clumsy early years of his sexual awakening, and then it had been awkward and almost comical.

Their kiss broke, leaving both breathless. He was the first to open his eyes, watching the flush rise to pale cheeks as her eyes opened. Fett couldn't help but be struck by her eyes; not their colour or their shape, but the desire in them.

"I need you," she whispered, her lips trembling as she spoke.

Three small, simple words, whispered in the darkness of the bounty hunter's ship, but they hit him as hard as her fist had. He pulled her to him again, kissing her, luring her tongue from her mouth. His hands slipped down from her face, one wrapping around her shoulders, the other resting at the narrow curve of her waist.

"I'm yours," he whispered to her, his mouth trailing along her jaw to her ear, causing goosebumps to rise along her arms.

She could feel his desire against her, straining against his trousers and armour.

His hand crept lower, his knees bending as he drew her leg up, bending her knee around his hip. She was heavier than most of the girls he'd done this with, the dancers and pretty decorations around palaces and cantinas on Tattoonie, but she was stronger, and able to help him. As he hoisted her up, he could feel her legs tightening around him and it made him smile through their kiss.

He supported her as he proceeded to the back of his ship, where a small sleeping pallet was tucked away. He hadn't taken anyone there, ever. His conquests had always succumbed to his desire long before he showed them any aspect of who he really was. Half of them hadn't even required him to remove his helmet, to show them his face, and of those who had requested, none had demanded the way the redheaded woman in his arms had.

He laid her down, bending awkwardly and bracing himself with his arm. His discomfort for her benefit was also a new concept for the otherwise very selfish bounty hunter. She demanded his respect, his compassion, in a way few had, with holding not only herself, but a very lucrative contract, until respect was given.

She made him nervous. Excited. Hungry.

He made her tremble. Anticipate. Desire.

"I'm not the kind of woman who gives myself away on a first meeting," she warned him, his erection painfully obvious against her hip bone as he leaned into her.

"Then take me," his reply, unexpected as it was, came.

Rules are meant to be broken, after all, she thought to herself, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and rolling him over onto his back, positioning herself in the place of power and control, straddling his hips.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

He had given himself to her on their first meeting, as a way of circumventing her wish to not be "taken." His compromise had set in play so much of what happened after. A night of passion, a negotiated payday that worked in both of their favours and another victory in the myth of Boba Fett, but one that involved no mention of sexual conquest.  
The awkward silence stretched between them, and Daala wondered if he was remembering back to the compromise as much as she was. Did he remember it on cold, lonely nights, drifting in the darkness of space, too? It was clear he hadn't forgotten about it, and that it had been as much about business for him as it was for her, which is to say, not about business at all.  
She reached up, gingerly, to the side of his helmet, slender fingers flicking the catches and releasing the environmental lock, before pulling it off his face. His eyes were still there, soulful and sorrowful; the horrors he had seen and perpetrated reflecting back at her. She held his helmet for a moment, feeling the weight, both physical and psychological, of the infamous visor and shape. Behind her was the cubby he had originally placed it years ago. She set it on the shelf and turned back to him.  
He simply blinked at her, letting her reach out, her fingers curling through his dark hair. It was shorter now, and starting to fleck with gray around the temples and along his widow's peak. Her hands slid down, clasping his face gently and bringing him into kiss her.  
Her mouth was warm, and tasted like brandy. A good taste for her, as her kisses were indeed very each passing moment, each fluttering little kiss, he fell more and more.  
But enough.  
He reached for her hands, stopping the shower of light, fluttering brushes of her lips across his skin. Now that they were no longer occupied pressing kisses to his lips, cheeks, jaw, they pulled into an almost vicious grin, her green eyes reflecting that same deep desire that had been there so many years ago.  
Her fingers nimbly unclipped his jet pack and rocket launcher and he let his shoulders drop to slip out of the strapping. She put it down just as he had before, followed by his belt, which she looped around the jet back as he had.  
He continued to stand in front of her, almost passive as she disarmed him, literally this time, with her calm, purposeful actions. His hands hung at his sides, but one by one, she took them, slipping the gloves off, setting them on top of his helmet. It was clear the memory of that singularity was as vivid for her as it was for him.  
Now that he was able to truly feel her, touch her, and she could see him, she paused again.  
He was as handsome as she remembered him, though a little worse for wear. Her favourite scar, the one that had run from his cheek bone to mouth had several new friends, and it looked as though he might have broken his nose a time or two since their last encounter.  
She smiled at him, leaning forward and pressing her mouth to his.  
Time vanished; the decade between the now and that one night shared so long ago seemed to disappear.  
Their kiss broke, leaving both him and her breathless.  
"Natasi," he breathed, chest heaving against hers.  
"Your secrets are safe, as always," she whispered, pulling him back to her. Her mouth was hungry, needy, almost desperate for him; it had been far too long since she had felt passion like that which they shared.  
He pulled her to him, holding on tight as if she would disappear if he loosed his grip. "I need you," his voice was rough in her ear, mimicking the words she had said to him those years ago.  
"I'm yours," was her reply, her voice warm against his ear. "Take me."  
Two words. Two very simple words. And yet they made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and something else come to full attention.  
He reached behind her, pulling the bind off the bottom of her braid, roughly coming out the copper red hair. It had grown so long; he wanted to see it loose. "May I?"  
She smiled, helping him pull out the braid. It fell in a wave down the front of her uniform. He ran his fingers through it several times, marvelling at the way it felt against his hands.  
She was easier to lift this time, he was prepared for her. His hands supported under her thighs, helping them wrap around his waist. Her back was pressed into the wall. He was sure she could feel him against her; his erection must be painfully obvious by this point. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his shoulders.  
He carried her to the sleeping pallet, still located in the seldom seen aft of the craft.

Before crouching to gently let his long lost lover down he paused, breathing her scent in deep.

He laid her down, straddling her hips as he had done before.

"Miss me?"

"Desperately."

And with that, the years between the then and now, and the now and the future, stretched into an infinite, endless stream. They weren't an Admiral and a Bounty Hunter. They were a woman, and a man; they were lovers.

Once again.

And perhaps, never again.


End file.
